I Can See Clearly
by ShakespeareFreak
Summary: Colin Gray's story only really began when his mortal life ended. After meeting his fate at the jaws of Jennifer Check, he's totally ready to move on—until something pulls him back. What follows is a journey through both the afterlife and the mortal world, eventually leading him to a decision that could take him from the gates of Heaven to the jaws of Hell itself.
1. Chapter 1: Through The Trees

**DISCLAIMER: **_Jennifer's Body _and all related characters and events belong to Diablo Cody, Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation, and Dune Entertainment. This is a not-for-profit work. I am not making any money, nor am I attempting to negatively affect the market for any of the materials shown, or take proceeds from their creators, but rather to expand the fanbase and keep the pre-existing fanbase strong.

Some quotes from the film are scattered throughout.

**RATING: **T (for violence/gore, character death, some suggestive adult themes, coarse language, and ideologically sensitive material)

Contains a _lot_ of my own personal beliefs concerning the afterlife, many of which do not mesh with any established religion's teaching, and some of which may be considered offensive. Read at your own risk.

Coarse language, including slurs.

Some non-sexual, non-descriptive nudity in later chapters.

**CHARACTERS FEATURED: **Colin Gray, Jennifer Check, Needy Lesnicki, and most of the supporting cast of _Jennifer's Body_, as well as various OCs

**SPOILER WARNING: **Contains Spoilers for pretty much the entire film.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Through the Trees**

Colin Gray screamed, over and over, but the sounds of his own screams seemed more distant with each ripping, rending bite. He wished the pain would get more distant too, but instead it became more intense, as if she were harrowing his very soul, eating it along with his flesh. Was it supposed to last this long? Wasn't the dying bit supposed to make it hurt less?

These thoughts ran dimly through his mind, the part that wasn't consumed with the ordeal his body was going through. It was oddly like sex: it was like part of his mind could think _above_ the pleasure, or, in this instance, the pain.

He tried to cry out to God, but she had eaten—Oh God, _eaten_—too much of him, he couldn't make more than wet, strangled, jagged sounds. He clutched his rosary with fainting fingers and prayed in his head instead. He figured God would hear anyway.

God must have. He was still screaming, somewhere, far away, but finally the pain seemed... not less intense, but _deeper_. He began to realize that this body that he'd always thought of as himself, as his identity, was merely a collection of nerves and muscles and bones and skin, a meat-puppet, and that _he_ was something completely different, controlling this puppet without even realizing it... for a short while. The part of him that really _was_ him was separating, preparing to exit.

Should it have been frightening? The sensation of dying? It wasn't, really. This new, deep pain felt almost good, in a strange way... the pain was a doorway that was slowly opening. A doorway to where? Did it matter? A new world. It'd be all right.

Then suddenly, he was back, ever so briefly... he saw her toothy maw stretched wide, wider than should be physically possible for a human jaw. He saw her inhuman eyes, pale and terrible, staring into him with a triumphant expression: **_HOPELESS. _**He wanted to grin up at her, to say, _I'm __**not**__ hopeless_. But he'd lost control of his facial muscles. He doubted she'd understand anyway, as she lowered her face below his line of sight and made one final chomp, crunching into his ribcage and splattering everything with spurts of red.

The pain was excruciating, abrupt, _deeper_ than ever before... and then he splintered into a million pieces and he went through the doorway, hurtling past the dark shapes. Hurtling through the trees.

It took forever; it was instantaneous. He had time to wonder, at length, whether that stupid band had any idea how close they'd come to the mark. He was floating slowly enough to see each of the dark shapes in detail... they _were_ trees, but only on the surface; he knew they were more than that, but he could never explain, not in the mortal words he'd had such command over during his life. Yet at the same time, he was rushing past these trees at an enormous speed.

Headed towards the Light.

He saw—no, _felt_ it. How could he _see_ anymore? He had no optical nerves, nothing to see _with_. The term, like so many others, was quickly becoming primitive, outdated: a mortal term. This Light couldn't be _seen_ anyway. He'd felt it when he was alive too, in a diluted, distant sort of way: holding his rosary in prayer; singing along with some dumb song in his dad's car; sunny days following rainy nights, with the smell of the wet earth, the world feeling fresh and clean and made anew.

He was amused: that corny light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel thing was real! He burst into dozens upon dozens of bubbles of laughter; it wasn't so funny in itself, but he felt so joyful! How could he not, so close to that Light that was pure happiness?

And just before he reached it, the thought of Jennifer, sudden, unexpected, certainly unbidden, filled his mind.


	2. Chapter 2: Jennifer

**Chapter 2: Jennifer**

She'd been beautiful, that first time he saw her. As always.

Colin was a freshman then, thrust into the madhouse of high school, and he felt a bit like he was going mad himself. He'd swear he heard vomiting from the girl's restroom, but when a gaggle of giggling girls, glittering with sparkling eye-shadow, came out the door, they acted as if nothing was wrong. He shook his head, amazed… these shallow plastics would do _anything_ to attract the attention of equally shallow males.

Another freshman, a tiny girl, petite even to him, was crying in the hallway; sniffling, her red eyes screwed up, she looked as if she thought the world was coming to a close. Colin smiled at her in what he hoped was a comforting sort of way, but she didn't notice, and he was late to class… and, frankly, he felt a bit like the world was ending himself.

His classes were hectic; his classmates seemed certifiably insane; it was too damn _loud_; the hallways were a stampede; his backpack got heavier and heavier, weighing down on his back like his books were freaking _bricks._

And then, suddenly, there _she_ was, floating through the hallway as if the stress that was crushing him just rolled off of her, secure in her confidence. Her eyes were a strikingly brilliant blue, and seemed to radiate that same confidence. She wore her tight, trendy jeans and pink hoodie like a robe of royalty, the dark denim hugging her hips, the pink fabric caressing her soft breasts. Her full, glossy pink lips were curved in a small, knowing smile. Her bronzed skin seemed to glow.

The world seemed to slow down. She ran one hand through her shining, wavy black hair; he saw everything in minute detail, down to the bright magenta nail polish that covered her perfectly manicured nails, with that odd, somehow striking, black on the nail of her middle finger.

Jennifer—though of course he hadn't known that then.

The bell rang, and everything sped back up. Someone jostled his shoulder, muttered "Fuckin' emo;" the someone's girlfriend giggled. The teacher called for them to hurry up and get inside. Colin saw _her_ talking to the pale blond by her side, whom he hadn't noticed before... unsurprisingly, given how quiet and unremarkable she was next to this high-school goddess. He heard the two exchange an incomprehensible farewell: "See ya, Monistat;" "Later, Vagisil." And then the tide of teenagers carried him into the classroom.

The next day, during English class, Colin found himself seated beside the girl's blond friend. She was skinny, with long curly hair tied back behind her head. Her light grey-green eyes were strangely expressive in her thin, pale face, in contrast to her quiet, unassuming demeanor. Those eyes were slightly magnified behind thick-rimmed nerd glasses that were very clearly worn for function, not style. She looked like Jan Brady. She also looked like the type of person who would be labeled "geek." What she did _not_ look like was one of that perfect, confident female's inner circle. But hell, who was he to judge?

According to roll call, her name was Anita Lesnicki, but when she turned to him and introduced herself with a shy smile, it was as "Needy."

He couldn't help it. _"Needy Lesnicki?"_

"At least my last name isn't a color," she retorted. It was a lame comeback, sure… but she had spunk, despite her appearance, and he couldn't help but grin at her. She returned the smile.

She was a surprisingly good writer, he found over the next few weeks. That first day, they were told to write a paragraph and exchange it with a partner to proof-read. Needy and Colin exchanged papers. She had a good grasp of structure, and an engrossing writing style. When he finished her paragraph (written in long, loopy letters that were somehow as endearing as the content of her writing) he started: "You're—"

She cut him off. "That geeky girl who hangs out with the babe. Yes, I know." Her voice wasn't bitter; it was a statement of fact. At his shocked expression, she explained, "I saw you looking at her in the hall."

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "But I was actually gonna say you're an excellent writer." He looked at her steadily. Her face took on a vaguely surprised, pleased expression. They were friends from then on.

As time wore on, and Needy got a boyfriend, Chip, Colin thought that Chip might suspect they were more than friends. Sure, Needy was pretty, in a quiet sort of way, and certainly intelligent enough—but Colin never really looked at her beyond the bounds of friendship.

Weeks became years. Colin slowly began to understand the complex emotional maze of high school, to know when to shut up or get pounded, to adjust to the workload their teachers piled upon them. He made friends with a group not-so-fondly known around school as the Dead Kids. He became close with one of them—Colleen, a.k.a. Belladonna—and they went out for quite a while. She was his first love. His first sexual experience too. Her hair was a lovely red, the color of dried blood, and she always wore it up in a bun. Her pale face was wry and catlike, and her lips were stained the shade of bruised raspberries. He always looked forward to the times they were alone. When they were alone, she'd release her hair from its confinement and shake it loose. It would hang in waves around her shoulders, and she'd let him run his hands through it, long and silky.

Colleen dumped him in Junior Year, saying he "just wasn't badass enough." He'd thought his heart would never mend… but it did. He dated occasionally after that, but nothing really permanent. He waited patiently, figuring the right girl would come along eventually.

He stayed friends with Needy. They decided to sign up for the same elective writing courses. Colin liked to write, especially fiction, and his teachers always praised him on his style and his creativity. His stories were often dark, but hey, he liked dark. He found he could escape his own small worries in the larger troubles and tragedies of his characters. Whenever he felt like he just couldn't stand it anymore, he knew that the stories were always there. For her part, Needy's writing was just as delightfully earnest as it had been that first day. Whatever her topic, she was passionate and truthful.

He often saw Needy in the halls with her dark, foxy friend, whose name, he learned, was Jennifer Check. He had never spoken to Jennifer, they'd never even had a class together—but mentally he credited her as the reason he got through that first day, maybe even the reason he was still alive. He'd heard suicides did happen among freshmen occasionally. Her confidence was infectious: it had lifted him up and set him on his feet again. He watched her from a distance, not obsessively, just watching, until it seemed so natural that he barely noticed he did watch her at all.

And then it was Senior Year. He was looking at colleges, deciding where to go next. He wanted to get out of Devil's Kettle, he knew that much. A college in a major city… Madison, maybe. He looked forward more to the experience than to what it might bring him in job skills… he hadn't really decided on a career, wasn't sure where life would take him yet.

The first day of their last high school year, the Seniors had to sit through a speech in the gymnasium, which involved a reading of Dr. Seuss' _Oh, The Places You'll Go!_ This was widely proclaimed "lame." And then, it was time for his first class: English. He sat down near the middle of the room and half-listened to the teacher's opening mini-speech, playing with his rosary distractedly, fingering the round metal beads. Then, during roll call:

"Jennifer Check."

"Here."

Her voice was smooth and rich, almost a purr. Colin started (the kid at the desk next to him snickered) and almost missed it when his own name was called.

Halfway through the period, they were assigned partners. And of course, when the teacher read out the names, it was "Jennifer Check and Colin Gray."

He got up and practically stumbled over to her. "Hi," he said, grinning self-consciously, raising his hand in a small finger-wave.

"Hey," she said in a bored voice, not even looking at him. So he sat down, opened his English book, and started to read aloud like everybody else. It wasn't like he had a _choice._ He was halfway down page two when he heard her say, "What's that?"

She was indicating the rosary loosely wrapped around his right wrist. He realized he'd continued to play with it unconsciously while he was reading. This was the first time she'd addressed him, and her tone had contained a genuine interest, if a slight one.

"This?" He blinked in surprise. "This is a rosary. Catholics use it to pray."

"I know _that,"_ she said. "I'm not a retard." As if _he_ might be. "I meant, what are _you_ doing with one? I thought you people were all witches or whatever." She pursed her perfect lips.

Colin bristled a bit. He had nothing against Wicca... it just sucked to be lumped into a religion just by how he dressed. She didn't even _know_ him, and here she was, judging him. He had to remind himself that anger doesn't solve anything before answering.

"God doesn't judge people based on how they look. It's our actions that matter," he explained, as patiently as he could manage.

"Oh," she said, one syllable of dismissal, turning away again. But the bridge was formed. He thought she might have even listened more intently as he finished the chapter.


	3. Chapter 3: The Beast

**Chapter 3: The Beast**

Jennifer was a crappy English partner, anyone else might have said. She kept "forgetting" to read the material, and borrowed Colin's notes constantly. She did her lips in class, and generally made it very obvious that she didn't care about schoolwork, that she could slide by on her good looks alone.

A little _too_ obvious, Colin thought. It was as if she were keeping up her reputation as the school bitch. Because Jennifer was smart. Not book-smart—though she could read and write better than he expected of her—but clever. She saw things that other people missed.

"What a bitch," Belladonna said once, as Jennifer breezed by the Dead Kids in the halls, giggling to Needy about something. Even though Bella and Colin had long since broken up, their shared group of friends made it impossible to avoid each other, which led to some awkward moments, and occasionally a twinge of pain on Colin's part. "Cackling like a witch from the Scottish Play, or something." Belladonna was obsessed with _Macbeth_, but refused to say the play's title. It was supposedly from fear of bad luck, but from a girl who once had slit her forearms and bled all over Colin's bathroom on a semi-regular basis, Colin found it more pretentious than anything.

"She's so _shallow,_" concurred Riley, a guy who gave off the hardcore-goth-rocker vibe like the scent of the cologne he soaked himself in.

"She's not so bad, actually" said Colin, thoughtfully biting his bottom lip. "She's my partner in English."

"Oh, fuck, man! Shitty luck! A dumb frigid chick like that!" That was Riley.

"She doesn't do her share," Colin admitted. "But she's smarter than you'd think."

"Oooh, Gray-boy's in loooove!" Riley hooted. Riley was stupid (far stupider than Jennifer, Colin privately thought), and frankly an asshole.

Colin flushed angrily and rounded on him. "Fuck you, man!" But then he saw Belladonna's eyes on him, and stopped dead. Her expression was cold and unbelieving at his too-vehement response. He stammered, abashed, "She just—she can be cool sometimes, ya know?" Trying to shrug it off.

Belladonna snorted. "Yeah, sure. I can just picture her now, lying on her bed with the pink-priss sheets, leafing through Cosmogirl and putting on way too much lip gloss. Real cool."

There was derisive laughter from Riley. Colin thought he detected a hint of jealousy in Bella's voice. Had he ever really loved her, he wondered?

_Fuck,_ he thought. _I need better friends._

One day when Jennifer showed up to class, a CD slipped out of her backpack. He hastened to pick it up—knowing it was expected of him, as the lowly emo serf to the school queen bee—and happened to see the band's name. He raised his eyebrows in total shock.

"The Dwarves? Is this yours?"

"Yeah," she answered casually, plucking it from between his fingers and sliding it back in the side pocket of her bag. "I like to listen to them when I'm leafing through Cosmo and putting on too much lip gloss." Her tone was withering. She'd heard Belladonna.

"I'm sorry, it's just—I know them—I mean—" He was floundering in his surprise and shame.

"The Dwarves don't judge people on how they look," she said, parroting back his words about God with a trace of a smile on her lips. He blushed. Jennifer suddenly looked him straight in the eyes, ultra-serious: "Just because I don't dress like a corpse doesn't mean I can't listen to cool music."

The moment was heavy with meaning. She stared at him; he stared at her; and suddenly he understood that _he'd_ been judging _her, _too. He looked at her with new eyes. What he saw was a clever, beautiful girl who was really almost a young woman.

That was the day he decided to ask her out. He knew he wasn't her only admirer: practically every boy in the school—and some of the girls too—looked at her with barely-concealed lust in their eyes. He'd seen some of the braver ones go up to her in the hallway and ask her to a movie, and she always turned them down. She'd turn him down, too, despite their closeness in class, and he knew it. What could a Venus like her want with an unpopular Dead Kid like him? She wouldn't want to be seen with him in the hall, bringing down her rep, much less _be_ with him. Still, he felt he had to try. He felt like his destiny included her, somehow.

But just as he'd worked up his courage to the point of asking her, circumstances made it impossible.

Melody Lane, the town's only bar, burned down, killing 47 people. Among the dead were the foreign exchange student who had always been referred to as "Ahmet-from-India," one word, as if that was just his name; Craig Johnson, a star football player; six other kids from school; and the Spanish teacher. The hallways were still; no one spoke, no one laughed, no one chattered. There was only the sound of muffled sobs, and Colin knew that everyone's mind was filled, as his was, with the scent of burning flesh, the crackles of flame.

Needy and Jennifer had been there. He was glad they were both okay. When he tried to tell Jennifer this, however, she brushed him off. She seemed colder than usual, almost cruel. He put it down to denial, or shock, or something.

When he joined the group of Dead Kids in the hall, Riley was proclaiming loudly that he'd seen Jonas Kozelle, a burly jock who was the school's star linebacker, crying in Gym class over Craig's death. Jonas and Craig had been best friends. "Big, tough-guy Jonas was sobbing like a little baby! Ooh, you guys shoulda seen it!" The other Dead Kids listened in mute shock: this was a new low, even for Riley.

Colin nudged his friends aside to confront Riley. He swallowed his anger and tried the diplomatic tactic. "Hey, man, you know him and Craig were tight. Wouldn't you be upset? Have a little respect for the dead."

But Riley, far from being cowed, laughed. "Yeah, they were tight! Bet they were secretly gayboys, and Jonas already misses the good butt-fucking he used to get!" He laughed raucously, delighted with his own wit. No one joined in.

Colin glared at Riley with cold fury, having to restrain himself with every fiber of his being from giving him a good punch right in his laughing mouth, maybe knock a few teeth out. "Fuck, man," he said evenly, staring straight into Riley's eyes, "you're heartless." He shook his head and walked away through the sudden silence.

Behind him, he heard Riley recover himself and start mocking Colin. "Oh, little Christian Colin is all about respect for dead jocks! Maybe _he's_ a gayboy too..." But then Colin was out of earshot, and glad of it.

The next day, however, even Riley was silenced. Jonas had been murdered after school, ripped apart in the woods. Mr. Wroblewski, the biology teacher, had followed his screams and found the body. Parts of Jonas were missing, eaten, and the papers said it hadn't been animals, but cannibalism. Colin felt like vomiting.

A month passed, with the school in a stupor of tragedy. They had a memorial assembly for the students who'd died in the fire, and one for Jonas. There was a candlelit vigil at the pile of ashes that had been Melody Lane. The band that had been playing there the night of the fire, Low Shoulder, had supposedly rescued numerous people from the flames, and were being honored by the town and the world in general as heroes. The one song they'd had a chance to play before the blaze, "Through the Trees," seemed to be everywhere, like it was the Devil's Kettle anthem. The melody echoed through the streets, played by dozens of radios; the school choir sang it at one of the assemblies; the words could be heard all the night of the vigil at the remains of Melody Lane; and the pastor even quoted it at Jonas' funeral.

Colin thought it was all a bit silly. The song couldn't help Jonas, or those poor souls who had died in the fire. The band was just using the town's tragedy to advance their fame. Needy confided in him during Creative Nonfiction: "They didn't save anyone, Colin! They spent the night ogling Jennifer! And that lead singer, Nikolai or whatever... he gave me the willies." She shuddered. "There was something... wrong... with him."

Colin nodded sympathetically. "What a bunch of creeps," he muttered. He tried to figure out what Needy had meant by something being "wrong" with Nikolai, but she didn't like talking about it, so he let it drop.

Jennifer remained... distant. Something was off about her, though Colin couldn't put his finger on it. She talked and laughed the same as ever, but more coldly, with even less regard for others than usual. No one else seemed to notice—though Colin was sure Needy did—but it was like Jennifer's act of being a bitch had become more than an act.

While the class was reading _Lord of the Flies_, and he was prepping her—as usual—for a quiz with reading he'd done and she hadn't, she suddenly said, "So, this Beast... is it like the Devil or whatever?"

He sighed and tried again. "The Beast is, like, an expression of the evil within humanity. Like Simon said: 'Maybe it's only—'"

"'—Maybe it's only us,'" she finished in annoyance. She narrowed her eyes at his look of surprise; she _had_ been listening after all. "What I _mean_ is, what if Simon's _wrong?_ What if there's a real Beast, some, I dunno, dark presence over the island?"

Colin thought about it. It might be possible, he supposed. He glanced at Jennifer, and for a second he thought he saw fear in her eyes, like she was begging for help. But then it was gone; Jennifer was cool and confident as ever. He shrugged it off.


	4. Chapter 4: Propositions

**Chapter 4: Propositions**

Colin waited for the wave of grief to pass, and it did, slowly. He prepared to ask Jennifer out again. He felt a squirm of guilt in his stomach for thinking about such a normal thing as dating after such a tragic event—the dead were still dead: Jonas would never ask anyone out again; Ahmet would never have to worry about how he looked before approaching a pretty girl. But because of his faith, Colin truly believed that they were in a better place. That helped.

One day, he felt up to it and waited for Jennifer in the hall. She was walking next to Needy, but they weren't talking. Needy looked slightly confused, and Jennifer stared straight ahead listlessly. The silence between them was palpable. Colin thought something must be up, but decided to go ahead anyway.

Jennifer didn't look like herself. Her hair had lost some of its bounce and shine, and hung dully around her pale face, which seemed drained of color. She wore a long-sleeved "Devil's Kettle High School" shirt, an ugly sort of faded blue that didn't suit her at all. She had a zit on her skin, even; a small one, but you wouldn't expect it from Jennifer. You'd think if Jennifer ever got a pimple, which seemed impossible in itself, she'd call in sick from school till it went away. She looked like she hadn't been sleeping enough, or eating right. She looked ill.

Colin didn't really care. He never cared much about looks, anyway. This was the girl who had saved him that first day of Freshman Year; who listened to the Dwarves; who had strange insights on William Golding; who didn't treat him like a bug, despite how he dressed. He grasped his rosary in the palm of his hand for courage, and walked up to them.

"Hello, Needy," he greeted his friend.

She smiled a little. "Hi."

Then he turned to Jennifer, diving right in. "Jennifer."

Jennifer smiled at him, a clearly forced smile. She kept walking, and he walked backward in front of her to keep in her line of sight, gnawing his nails nervously.

"Hi, Colin." He opened his mouth to speak, but she went on. "Can I borrow your English homework again? I forgot to read _Hamlet_. Is he gonna fuck his mom?" She looked slyly at him out of the corner of her eye, as if they were discussing a juicy bit of gossip, not Shakespeare's great work.

Colin was silent for a moment as that registered. He had to try hard not to roll his eyes. It was a common theory, actually, that Hamlet had incestuous thoughts toward his mother, but he had always thought it was a stupid one. He looked to Needy for help, but she was giggling and let him suffer. He composed himself and tried to chase away sudden thoughts of abandoning this whole idea. It suddenly seemed really, really stupid. "No—I don't—I don't—I don't think so," he stuttered, grinning helplessly at Needy, then turned back to Jennifer. "Um, I actually wanted to, ah, to ask you something."

"You want to know if I'll go out with you." It was a statement, not a question. She smiled at him, like he was a mangy puppy she felt bad for, but also like she was just exhausted, tired of everyone asking her this.

"No! Yeah. What? I—" he stammered, grinning awkwardly out of pure shock and embarrassment. She kept walking, and he nearly stumbled backwards into a locker trying to keep ahead of her. "I don't g—" He didn't get it, was what he wanted to say. Was he really _that_ obvious? He just abandoned that sentence mid-word. "How'd you know?"

"Just go ahead with the pitch." She stopped walking and looked at him steadily, like she was already composing her negative answer in her head, but was giving him a chance to ask for the sake of form.

It was disconcerting and disheartening, that look, those beautiful blue eyes staring piercingly at him. He swallowed. "Okay. Um…" She tilted her head and waited. He decided to just take her advice and go ahead with the pitch. It _was_ a pitch; he'd practiced it over and over in his mirror the night before. He grasped his red-and-black striped scarf to pull himself together, took a deep breath, and began. "Well, we've been having a lot of fun in class, you and I, and I thought that maybe you'd like to go see a movie or something." She just stared at him, but he refused to back down. "There's a, uh, a midnight showing of _Rocky Horror_ at the Bijou next weekend." Colin loved _Rocky Horror_; maybe Jennifer did too. He looked at her, daring to hope just a little.

She shook her head, her eyes narrowed in distaste. "I don't like boxing movies."

When that sunk in, he hoped it was a joke, just Jennifer being sarcastic, but there wasn't a trace of a smile on her face. He felt his own face fall. Needy looked away, embarrassed, during the small awkward silence.

"Yeah, but it's not—" He looked at her, hoping to see light dawn in her eyes, but she just looked confused. He closed his eyes, speaking as if to a very small child, "It's not a..." he heaved a deep sigh and gave up, "...fucking boxing movie." He turned to walk away. He'd done his best. She was a moron, and so was he for trying it. "Um, fuck it. Okay. Forget it."

He retreated as fast as he could, his face burning, _feeling_ Needy's pity at his back. He fled from that pity, from Jennifer's derision. He tried to shut out the looks and comments that surrounded him from students who had watched that little exchange. _Get some popcorn, why don't you?_ he thought hatefully at them all. _I just turned my life into a soap opera._ He knew that he'd go down in school history as the lame kid who thought he was cool enough for Jennifer Check, just because she'd been nice to him in class. They were nothing alike; he saw that now. It was only out of pity that she'd been kind to him... he was a different species.

He was halfway down the crowded hallway when he heard Jennifer's voice, raised above the chatter: "Wait. Colin."

He spun around slowly, arms raised in surrender, wondering what she could possibly say to make it worse, to make it _more_ embarrassing than it already was.

But she smiled at him. "Why don't you just come by my place tonight?" She walked towards him. He could only stare. "I just got _Aquamarine_ on DVD. It's about this girl who's like, half-sushi. I guess she has sex through her blowhole or something."

He was struck by how the roles were reversed now: she looked at him, waiting for his answer, while Needy watched from a distance, leaning against a locker. Colin didn't know what to think. _Aquamarine?_ A preteen movie about a _mermaid?_ What did she think he was, five? But what could he say? He couldn't turn down the most beautiful, popular girl in school because she had shitty taste in movies.

So he smiled, a bit uneasily, and took the only path he felt he could. "Okay," he said. He chuckled nervously. "Great, yeah."

"Okay. I'll text you my address." He didn't like her smile: it seemed almost predatory. He wondered if she was pranking him. He waited a moment: waiting for the punchline, the mocking laughter that was sure to follow.

But it didn't come. Colin felt there was nothing more to say, and it was fast becoming awkward, so he just said "Cool," and walked away.

But he couldn't help looking back at her, once. She was still looking after him. Maybe she _did_ like him. Maybe she just couldn't let on because she was so popular and he was so, well, not. It seemed unlikely, but he let himself revel in the moment. He punched his palm with his fist in triumph, and grinned as he walked away.


	5. Chapter 5: Death

**Chapter 5: Death**

Colin waited anxiously for the end of the day. The rest of his classes seemed like a blur, but they took _forever._ He didn't hear any of the lectures, couldn't concentrate on the lessons. All he could think was: _Why did she change her mind?_

That night, he checked himself in the mirror more times than was strictly necessary. Normally, he didn't really care about his appearance, but this was _Jennifer Check._ Finally, he got Jennifer's text: "Rdy," followed by directions from the Devil's Kettle market near his house.

He got in his dad's car and started driving, cranking the speakers all the way up, the window open, feeling the wind on his face. He felt awesome. He had a date with Jennifer Check; who else could say _that?_ Well, except for that Roman guy… he was a year or two older than Jennifer, already a police cadet, but everyone knew they were fucking. Roman was far more what Colin would imagine her type to be: a chiseled chin, muscles, light brown hair in a crew cut, eyes that he'd heard girls deem "dreamy." Colin thought he looked like a Ken doll. But even though Roman and Jennifer were having sex, they weren't actually dating. Maybe she didn't really _want_ someone like Roman. Maybe… maybe she wanted someone like _him._

As if to punctuate this thought, one of his favorite songs started playing. He was listening to a CD he'd burned himself, and this track was Screeching Weasel, doing a screamo version of "I Can See Clearly." He sang along, loudly and joyously and out-of-tune, tapping his hand on the steering wheel in time to the song.

_"I can see clearly now the rain has gone! I can see all obstacles in my way! Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind! It's gonna be a bright, bright, sunshiny day!"_

It would be, he could feel it. Everything was great. The wind whipped onto his face, the song pulsed through the car and pounded in his blood, and it felt great just to be alive.

But as he turned onto a dark street, he began to feel a little creeped out. The street seemed totally abandoned. There were no lights anywhere. It was ominous.

He got another text from Jennifer: "242 camerford. Trn lft and your there. C-ya! Xoxo Jen." How did she know where he was? Could she see his car? That must be it. He turned the car left, saw the house number, guided the car to the curb, and turned off the engine.

The feeling of apprehension grew. All the windows in the house were dark, except for one on the top floor, where he could see flickering light, like fire, through the shade. He looked at the house, confused by how empty it seemed, suddenly feeling like he should just turn around and drive away, as fast as he could, and never look back. But then he shrugged it off, checked his lip ring in the car mirror, and got out.

He walked across the street. The house was obviously deserted. There were wood planks hammered over the door. He tried it anyway, but it was locked. He knocked, and heard faint rattling and thumping noises from upstairs. Definitely weird.

He couldn't fully explain why he did what he did next—a sense of adventure, or the lure of Jennifer waiting for him, or what—but he kept looking for a way in. He found a large hole in the wall, covered by a heavy sheet of plastic to keep the rain out, and jumped in. It was set a few feet above the floor, and he put out his hand to cushion the fall. He landed awkwardly, grinning, feeling cool and brave.

But when he stood, shaking his rosary back into place, that sense of foreboding assailed him again. Inside, he could see that the house was really just a skeleton of a house, with wires poking out of rough wood supports. It was still under construction. Maybe the whole street too, he thought, recalling how empty it had felt, how there were no other cars parked outside. A new half-built community, or something like that. He realized that if he was right, no one could hear him, should he scream. He called softly, "Hello?" He realized he was frightened.

Music, very faint, coming from upstairs. He couldn't distinguish the words, or even the notes, but he heard the beat. The house creaked. "Jennifer?" he said, afraid that maybe it was someone else, that somehow he'd stumbled into a crack den or something. He pushed through another sheet of plastic with a crackling sound, and the music got louder. It was a kind of smooth R&amp;B that he'd always found a bit annoying. A man's voice in the music sang repetitively: _"I wanna love you, love you, you already know..."_

He started up the creaking stairs. A dark shape suddenly flew at him, screeching like something loosed from Hell itself. He saw a flurry of claws and pitch-black wings. He gasped and covered his head protectively with his arms, his heart pounding in his chest, nearly falling down the stairs.

But it was only a raven, disturbed by his intrusion into its roost. Colin wanted to laugh it off, but he couldn't help but feel like the bird's cawing had sounded almost like a warning. _Quoth the Raven, Nevermore._

Panting a little from his fright, he continued up the stairs. Following the music, he found the one room in the house with signs of life. It was lit with the soft, warm light of dozens of flickering candles, set all over the unfinished floor, clustered on a worktable. The music from the CD player was irritating, but it _was_ a love song, kinda. This had to be Jennifer's attempt at romance. He smiled, relieved, and pleased that she'd gone to all the trouble. Despite the music, it was beautiful.

He stepped into the room. He didn't see Jennifer there. The candles guttered a bit, as if in a breeze. Suddenly, a voice behind him said, "You made it."

He jumped and whirled around. But it was only Jennifer. He tried to laugh off his fright, feeling dumb. "What's goin' on?" he said, by way of a greeting, offering her a small grin.

She only stared at him, unsmiling. He didn't like the tilt of her head, or the look in her eyes: he felt like a mouse, cornered by a cat.

He tried again, if only to get her to speak, to break the silence that was somehow terrifying. "This, uh—this isn't really your house, is it?" He licked his lips nervously.

"No, baby," she said. "This is _our_ house, just for you and me." She advanced on him slowly. "We can play Mommy and Daddy." She unzipped her hoodie and threw it aside, revealing a skimpy white tank top barely covering the round, perfect shapes of her breasts. All her words and actions spoke of lust.

He wanted her, but there was something wrong here. She had barely noticed he'd existed all year. Now she was ready to fuck him? He tried to put it into words: "Do you even know my last name?" He was half-smiling, like he was kidding, but he looked into her eyes, letting her know he was serious.

She chuckled darkly. "Silly. I've been sending you signals all year. Couldn't you tell? You gave me such a wettie." She kissed his neck, slowly, sensually.

She was lying and he knew it, he could see it in her eyes. But he _wanted_ it to be true, so very badly. The feel of her breath, surprisingly hot, on his neck; her soft lips; her tongue on his skin. His rosary dangled loosely from his wrist, nearly forgotten.

She pulled away from his neck, and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her in return, and between their sweet kisses, he looked at her. Her face glowed in the candlelight, soft and lovely; he saw every smooth line, the delicate curve of her black eyebrows, the gentle shape of her jawbone underneath the skin. He saw her, _all_ of her, body and mind and soul. In that moment, he loved her. They kissed, and it was beautiful and it was right.

Suddenly, he heard a horrible high-pitched squealing. He pulled away from her in shock at the rats streaming across the floor. _"Jennifer!"_

She looked at the rats, casually, unsurprised and unafraid, then turned back to him, creasing her brow in mock confusion. "What? Are you scared?" She smiled meanly. "I mean, I thought boys like you were really into vermin and death and shit." She pulled at his belt as she spoke, in rough, cruel motions. She unzipped his pants and pulled them down around his ankles in one harsh, fluid movement. "Well, here you go." She cast an appraising eye over the bulge in the front of his boxers, and smiled approvingly. "Nice hardware, ace." She kissed him again.

When they pulled apart this time, she seemed to feel his gaze on her. She looked at him from under her long lashes, a cruel smile on her face. Suddenly, her eyes _changed_. All the color in her irises was sucked away, leaving only the pupils—too dark, like doorways to a deep black abyss, floating in a dead-white expanse. These new, awful, dreadfully pale eyes were bloodshot with red malice.

He stared at her, unbelieving, but knowing it was true. Suddenly, it all made sense. The change in Jennifer; the coldness; why she wanted him. He didn't know how it had happened, but he understood an evil presence had taken hold of her, possessed her. It was all the evils they spoke of in church, and all the things they didn't say. It was deep and black and pure in its darkness, its evil. _Demon,_ he thought, understanding fully for the first time what the priests had tried to convey.

She wasn't going to murder him… no, murder was a human thing. This was going to be so much worse. He tightened his grip on his rosary, praying desperately, wanting so badly to stay alive. He couldn't scream. His mouth opened of its own accord, and he heard himself say, "No way." A hollow, trite phrase; if someone had said that in a horror movie he was watching, he would have laughed at the absurdity of it. But now it contained his deep, fervent wish that this wasn't happening, _couldn't_ be happening… and his knowledge that it was.

She changed her eyes back to the false ones, the eyes that masked her true form, the eyes of the Jennifer he had loved. He couldn't look away. He started to back away, as fast as he could, unable to take his own eyes from hers. He had never really feared death before; he always knew it had to happen someday, that it was just part of God's plan. But _now?_ _Tonight?_ Oh please dear Jesus, not tonight. Faced with the prospect of imminent death, he felt every breath in his throat, every hair on his skin, every beat of his pulse. He treasured it all. He was only human, and he was afraid.

He backed into a sharp metal tool that was lying on the table, and felt his skin rip as it entered the flesh of his arm. He howled in pain. "Shit!" He looked at his arm, where a deep wound puckered like a mouth, not even bleeding yet. Then, almost instantaneously, the blood began to flow, profusely, a rich torrent of red.

"Ooh!_ Puncture wound!_" Jennifer cried gleefully, grabbing his arm. She looked at it almost tenderly, then up at him. "God, that is so… EMO!" She grinned widely and broke his arm—he felt his wrist fracture into a hundred pieces, felt the shards of bone tear into his flesh from the inside. He screamed. She twisted her hand easily, applying pressure that should be far beyond human strength without even breaking a sweat, and he felt his forearm shatter. She did it again, and he screamed and screamed and screamed. His arm was a useless limp thing, rubbery and filled with splinters of bone, and the fiery water of pain filled it, throbbing and pulsing.

"I need you frightened," she said through her teeth, bared in a grin. She was _enjoying_ this, more than he'd ever seen Jennifer enjoy _anything._ She loved to kill.

She threw him onto the floor with that superhuman strength. Colin felt his body slam into it, far too hard. He felt _everything._ All the sensations were heightened, as though his body knew it only had a minute left, as if it wanted to experience everything fully, even the agony. He was amazingly clear-headed, and each felt separate pain, throbbing dully or rippling like flame in its localized area.

She dropped down on top of him and straddled him. _**"I NEED YOU HOPELESS."**_ Her voice wasn't human anymore—it was still Jennifer's voice, it was coming through her vocal cords, but it echoed from deep caverns somewhere below everything he knew.

Her eyes changed again, and she raised her head. Her mouth opened and began to stretch. She made a sound in between a scream and a roar, like some prehistoric beast, a sound that could have been from pain or joy or both. Her mouth kept stretching, making a terrible cracking sound, until her human skin couldn't take it anymore and her cheeks tore open. Blood spurted from her face in ripped ribbons. The demon looked down at him. Her new mouth was a shark's maw, filled with rows of razor-sharp fangs leading back into a deep, dark gullet. He looked into that endless darkness inside her, feeling like he was being drawn into it. The darkness swallowed his gaze.

Then she struck like a cobra and bit into him.


End file.
